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The corridor to Anakin’s quarters had never felt this long.
Obi-Wan had walked it a thousand times. In the dead of night for late-night strategy sessions, at dawn to drag his former padawan to training, in the aftermath of battles to check for injuries Anakin would never admit to. He knew the exact number of steps. He knew where the floor creaked and where the lighting flickered. It was familiar. It was safe. It was something like home, almost.
But tonight, every step felt like wading through syrup. The Force seemed fractured ahead, sharp edges cutting into his senses, and he couldn’t tell if the tightness in his chest was anxiety or premonition.
Something is wrong.
He’d noticed it weeks ago. The way Anakin flinched at bright lights. The way he’d stared blankly at the holo-display, claiming he couldn’t read the red lettering against the green background. The way he’d started avoiding Obi-Wan’s gaze altogether, those blue eyes always darting away at the last second.
You told yourself it was exhaustion. The war. Anything but the truth.
But now, now Anakin had missed three briefings in a row. He’d stopped coming to the mess hall. Rex had pulled Obi-Wan aside two days ago, his face pinched with worry, and said, “General Kenobi, I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’s not sleeping. He’s not eating. He just… sits in his quarters. And sometimes I hear—” The clone had stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind. It’s probably nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing. Obi-Wan had felt it in the Force all day, all week—a pulsing, aching presence that screamed of pain and loneliness and something that made his own chest ache in sympathy.
His hand hovered over the door panel.
And then he heard it.
A soft, chiming sound, something like glass beads falling on stone. Over and over and over, a relentless cascade that sent ice down his spine.
Obi-Wan’s blood ran cold.
He didn’t knock or announce himself, just pushed the door open and stepped inside.
***
The first thing that hit him was the smell, a mix of salt and something metallic, like copper left out in the rain.
The second thing was the sound, that terrible and beautiful and wrong tinkling that seemed to come from everywhere all at once.
And the third—
Obi-Wan’s heart stopped.
Anakin was on his knees in the center of the room, back to the door, shoulders shaking violently. The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the floor, but there was enough illumination to see them.
The floor was covered.
Hundreds. Thousands. Tiny, faceted stars, each one no bigger than his thumbnail, glowing faintly gold with white and pale blue, catching the dim light like scattered constellations. Some were still whole, perfect little crystalline shapes; others had shattered on impact, sending glittering fragments across the permacrete. And more kept falling, a constant, heartbreaking rain from Anakin’s face.
“No, no, stop, please stop—” Anakin’s voice was wrecked, desperate, pleading with something invisible. Himself, maybe. “I can’t—I can’t keep doing this, please, just stop—”
The stars kept falling.
Obi-Wan moved on instinct. He crossed the room in swift strides, dropping to his knees beside Anakin, and then he saw his face.
Anakin’s eyes were squeezed shut, but it didn’t matter, as tears still forced their way through, tiny stars clinging to his lashes before they fell. His cheeks were wet with them, track marks of gold and silver glittering against his skin. His face was blotchy, red, young in a way Obi-Wan hadn’t seen since he was a padawan, stripped of all the bravado and confidence he wore like armor.
He looked broken. He looked dying.
“Anakin.”
Anakin flinched so hard he nearly toppled over. His eyes flew open, and Obi-Wan forgot to breathe.
Because Anakin’s irises, normally so bright, so brilliantly blue, were washed out. Pale, faded, like someone had drained the color from them drop by drop. Like they were slowly turning to—
No. No, that can’t be.
But even as Obi-Wan watched, another tear formed, a tiny star blooming in the corner of Anakin’s eye before it fell, and Anakin made a wounded sound, trying to turn away, to hide his face.
“Don’t—” Anakin choked out. “Don’t look at me, please, don’t—”
“Anakin.” Obi-Wan caught his chin gently, turning him back. His fingers came away wet and glittering. “Anakin, look at me. Don’t hide from me.”
He held Anakin’s face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears. The stars clung to his skin, warm and faintly pulsing, before they faded into nothing. He stopped, took a breath. “You can barely see me, can you? That’s why you won’t look at me. You can’t.”
Anakin didn’t deny it.
Obi-Wan’s chest ached. “How long?”
“Does it matter?”
“How long, Anakin?”
A long, shuddering pause. “Two weeks ago, I stopped seeing colors. Three days ago, I stopped seeing shapes. Now I just…” He gestured vaguely at the space where Obi-Wan was. “Shadows. Light. Yours is brighter than the rest. It always has been.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s how I knew you were here. You shouldn’t—” Anakin’s voice was wrecked. “You shouldn’t be here. You should stay away—”
“I’m not leaving.”
Anakin’s breath hitched, and more tears fell, shattering on the floor with that terribly beautiful chiming sound.
“I’ve seen this before,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “I’ve read about it. In old texts, from the archives. It’s called—”
He stopped. The words felt so wrong.
“Star Tears Disease.”
Anakin flinched as if he had been struck.
“You—” Anakin’s voice was hardly audible. “You know about it?”
“I know what it does. I know the symptoms. The tears, the fading eyesight, the—” Obi-Wan stopped, his throat tight. “The progression. If it’s not—if it’s not cured.”
Anakin squeezed his eyes shut. More tears fell. The stars scattered across the floor like a broken galaxy.
“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft, careful. “Who is it?”
Anakin shook his head, his jaw tight.
“Who are you in love with?”
Anakin’s eyes flew open. They were burning, even though the fading color, gold and silver tinged with despair.
“Why does it matter?” Anakin’s voice was hoarse.
“Because I need to—I need to fix this.”
“You can’t fix it.”
“If I know who it is, I can—”
“You can what?” Anakin cut him off, bitter and sharp. “Confront them? Make them love me back?”
Obi-Wan hesitated. “I can help you,” he said quietly.
“You can’t help me. No one can help me.”
“Anakin—”
“It doesn’t matter who it is!” Anakin’s voice cracked, splintering like the stars on the floor. “Because they don’t feel the same way. They’ll never feel the same way. And if they knew—if they knew how I felt—they’d—”
His voice broke completely. More stars fell, shattering against the floor.
“They’d what?” Obi-Wan asked softly.
Anakin looked at him, his eyes full of light and yet somehow also devoid of it.
“They’d pity me,” Anakin said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or they’d—they’d pretend to feel something they don’t, because they’re too kind to let me suffer. And I—” He swallowed hard. “I can’t live with that. I can’t live with them looking at me like I’m—like I’m broken.”
Obi-Wan’s heart shattered.
“Anakin,” he said gently. “You’re not broken.”
Anakin laughed. “I’m crying stars, Obi-Wan. My eyes are fading. I’m literally going blind because I can’t stop loving someone who doesn’t love me back. If that’s not broken, I don’t know what is.”
Obi-Wan shifted his hands, cradling Anakin’s face more firmly. “You’re not in trouble,” he said. “I need you to know that.”
Anakin blinked. Confusion flickered across his face, displacing the pain for just a moment.
“I’m not asking as a Jedi,” Obi-Wan continued. “I’m not asking as your former Master. I’m not asking as a Council member. I’m asking—” He stopped, his thumb brushing away another tear. “I’m asking as a friend.”
And something in Anakin’s expression snapped at that phrasing. “That’s the problem!” He yelled, with what seemed to be the last dregs of his energy. “That’s always been the problem!”
He tried to pull away, to scramble backward, but Obi-Wan held him fast.
“You just—you just see me as a friend,” Anakin continued, his voice breaking apart. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you. A friend. A student. Someone to—to mentor and guide and tolerate. And I—I can’t—”
More tears fell, a cascade of stars that shattered against the floor in a hailstorm of crystalline sound.
“I’ve been in love with you for years,” Anakin choked out. “Years, Obi-Wan. And you—you never—you just—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. His chest was heaving, his eyes flooding.
“That’s the problem,” he repeated. “That’s always been the problem. You see me as a friend. And I—I need you to see me as—”
He stopped, shaking his head violently.
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. You can’t—you can’t make yourself feel something you don’t. And I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t want you to. I’d rather—I’d rather fade away than have you pretend—”
“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice was firm, cutting through the spiral. “Stop. Look at me.”
Anakin shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, tremblingly, Anakin opened his eyes.
Obi-Wan’s thumbs brushed away the tears, the stars clinging to Anakin’s skin like scattered constellations.
“If this is what it takes,” Obi-Wan said quietly, “then I’m going to have to kiss you until you’re cured.”
Anakin froze.
“What?”
“I said—”
“You can’t—” Anakin’s voice cracked. “You can’t do that. You can’t just kiss me because you feel sorry for me. Did you listen to a single word I said? That’s—that’s worse. That’s so much worse—”
“Anakin.”
“I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to—to sacrifice yourself because you think it’s the right thing to do. I’d rather—I’d rather go blind than have you kiss me out of obligation—”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “I’m not doing this out of obligation.”
Anakin stared at him, his chest still heaving. “Then why—”
“Because I’ve been in love with you for years.”
The words shimmered in the air and Anakin’s breath seemed to catch as those pale, fading, aching eyes searched Obi-Wan’s face for any sign of deception.
"You're—" Anakin's voice was barely a whisper. "You're lying."
"I'm not lying."
"You're—you're just saying that because—because you want to save me—"
"I'm saying it because it's true."
"No, you're not—"
"I've loved you since you were nineteen years old."
Anakin's voice died in his throat.
“I watched you walk into the Temple,” Obi-Wan continued, his voice soft, “with your braid freshly cut and that ridiculous grin on your face, so full of hope and fire and life, and I thought—I thought, ‘I’m in trouble.’”
Anakin was shaking. The tears had slowed, but they were still falling, soft and golden, drifting around the both of them.
“You were so bright,” Obi-Wan said. “You still are. And I—I told myself it was wrong. I told myself you were my student, my responsibility. I told myself I had to keep my distance. That if I got too close, I would—”
He stopped, swallowing hard.
“I would fall. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t let myself fall. Not when you were so young. Not when you had so much ahead of you. Not when I had just been your mentor, your guide, your—”
He exhaled, slow and shaky.
“But I fell anyway. I fell, and I’ve been falling ever since.”
Anakin’s eyes burned now with something that looked like hope, that same expression that Obi-Wan had fallen for.
“You—” His voice wavered. “You really—”
“I really love you,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I loved you when you were a reckless padawan, and I fell in love when you became a knight, and I love you more now, even when you’re crying stars all over my floor.”
A wet, broken laugh escaped Anakin’s throat.
“Your floor?”
“The floor of your quarters,” Obi-Wan corrected, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Which I will be making you clean up, by the way. These are going to be a nightmare to sweep.”
Anakin laughed again, and it was a real laugh this time, even as the tears kept falling. But the blue was slowly starting to return to his eyes and Obi-Wan found he couldn’t look away.
“I can’t believe you,” Anakin whispered. “I can’t believe you—”
“I love you,” Obi-Wan said again. “I love you, and I’m going to kiss you now. And if the disease doesn't cure itself, I’m going to keep kissing you until it does. And then I’m going to keep kissing you anyway, because I’ve been waiting years for this, and I’m not going to waste any more time.”
Anakin didn’t have time to respond before Obi-Wan’s lips met his. It was a kiss of certainty, something that said I’ve been waiting for this. I’ve been waiting for years. And I’m not letting go.
When they broke apart, Anakin’s eyes were brighter. Still pale and slightly faded, but he was looking more and more like himself again.
“I think—” Anakin said hoarsely, “I think it’s working.
“Good,” Obi-Wan said, kissing his forehead. “Because I’m not done yet.”
***
Anakin woke slowly, drifting up from sleep like a leaf rising to the surface of still water. He initially noticed warmth, a solid heat pressed against his back, an arm draped over his waist, and a soft breath stirring the hair at the nape of his neck.
Next, he catalogued the light.
It filtered through his eyelids, warm and golden, and for a moment he was terrified that it was happening again, that the stars were back, that his eyes were burning, that he was still—
He blinked, and the world resolved into focus.
The light was just sunlight. Ordinary, beautiful, glorious sunlight, streaming through the window and painting the room in shades of amber and gold. He could see the dust dancing in the air, the rumpled sheets, the scattered remains of the stars on the floor that he knew he’d have to sweep up eventually.
He could see color.
His breath caught. He blinked again, testing it, and yes—there was the blue of his own blanket, the silver of Obi-Wan’s hair, the soft beige of the walls. All of it. All of it clear and vivid and there.
“Your eyes are doing the thing again.”
Anakin startled slightly. Obi-Wan’s voice was rough with sleep, his breath warm against Anakin’s neck.
“What thing?” Anakin asked, his own voice hoarse.
“The shiny thing.” Obi-Wan’s arm tightened around his waist, pulling him closer. “You woke up and your eyes just lit up. Like you were seeing something beautiful.”
Anakin turned in his arms, slowly, carefully, until he was facing Obi-Wan. He was close enough to count the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, the flecks of gray in his beard, the soft, sleepy smile that curved his lips.
“I am,” Anakin said. “I’m seeing something beautiful.”
Obi-Wan’s smile widened. “That’s disgustingly sentimental for this early in the morning.”
“I’m allowed to be sentimental. I almost went blind.” Anakin reached up, his fingers tracing the curve of Obi-Wan’s jaw. “I can see again. I can see you.”
“Your eyes are blue again,” Obi-Wan observed, his gaze soft and searching. “Really blue. Like—”
“Like what?”
Obi-Wan hesitated. “Like the sky before a storm. Like the deepest part of a lake. Like—”
Anakin kissed him, cutting off the flow of words.
It was softer than the kisses from the night before, less desperate, less frantic. When he pulled back, Obi-Wan was looking at him with an expression of such naked tenderness that Anakin’s chest nearly exploded.
“I love you,” Anakin said. “I just—I need to keep saying it. I need you to know.”
“I know.” Obi-Wan brushed a strand of hair from Anakin’s forehead. “I love you too.”
And they lay there, tangled together, as the sunlight crept across the floor and painted the scattered stars in shades of gold and white. And when Anakin finally drifted back to sleep, it was with a smile on his face.
And for the first time in weeks, Anakin felt whole.